


Brave as a lion

by Bruxalunch



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Ciri's Of Age, F/M, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Geralt doesn't want this, Geralt/Jaskier have been sleeping together for years, Geralt/Yennefer happens too, Loss of Virginity, M/M, This is Ciri's idea, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, but not in this fic, mention of rape by a monster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28987119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bruxalunch/pseuds/Bruxalunch
Summary: Trapped by monsters who lust for virgins, Ciri must convince Geralt to fuck her in order for them to escape.Geralt reluctantly agrees. It doesn't go well.Ciri's an adult in this.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	1. Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Alps are some of those gross female vampire creatures that can be especially attracted to virgins. How do they tell if someone's a virgin? Must be magic, and Geralt can sense it too, although not as intensely as the alps can.

“I don’t want to die in this cave.” 

Geralt cracked open an eye, considering the princess’s pout. “Neither do I,” he grumbled. 

She tightened her hands into fists in her lap. “You barely made it back today,” she admonished. “Whatever you’re doing out there doesn’t seem to be working. You’ve lost our weapons, our horses—” 

“Our horses are fine,” Geralt cut her off. “Saw them grazing on the ridge today. We’ll get them back when we get out of here.” 

“When will that be?” Ciri demanded. “You’ve no silver, no swords—” 

“I told you. I’ll retrieve my swords once these alps are dead.” He closed his eyes again, not wanting to argue. He just needed to rest. 

“…You’re getting weaker.” Her voice was steady, but Geralt could hear the worry behind it. “How many more days do you think we can hold out? You might as well let me go fight them. Especially since it’s my fault they’re here.”

“It’s not your fault,” Geralt corrected.

“You told me they’re attracted to virgins.” 

Geralt gave up on resting for the moment. “I told you these particular alps are being more difficult than regular alps because they’ve been driven mad by the smell of virgin blood. And none of that is your fault.” 

Ciri’s stare burned into him. “I’m the one driving them mad, Geralt. They won’t leave because they know I’m trapped in here—you crawl out there day after day to fight them, but it isn’t doing any good. We need a new plan.” She took a deep breath. “We need to make me… not a virgin,” she stated.

“Great idea,” Geralt snorted. “Unfortunately, if you’ll check our supplies, you’ll see we don’t have any magical virginity-cancelling elixirs.”

Ciri’s expression was deadly serious. “We have a flask of wine,” she said, softly matter of fact. “And you have a cock.” 

The furrows of Geralt’s brow deepened. He blinked, the cords in his neck tightening. “…Fuck,” he said after a moment.

“Yes,” Ciri nodded once. 

“No,” Geralt growled. “Not happening.”

“Why not?” Ciri demanded. “It’s a better plan than sending you out there to wrestle a horde of alps with your bare hands.”

“Better plan?” Geralt echoed, incredulous. “Have you lost your mind? You’re a child—”

“I am not a child,” she countered. “You should know better than anyone how far from a child I am.”

“Yeah,” Geralt sighed, forcing his shoulders to settle a little. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d hunched them up. “I don’t care if you’re twenty,” he rumbled. “Fuck, I don’t care if you’re _forty._ To me, you are a child.”

“By the Law of Surprise, you might have taken me as your bride,” Ciri reminded him. 

“Well, I didn’t. And I’m not going to now, so you can forget about it.”

Her face clouded with anger. “I need you to do this for me,” she seethed. “I need you to respect my decision.”

“First it’s your plan, now it’s your decision? What’ll it be next, your command?” Geralt scowled, gritting his teeth. 

Ciri looked down at her hands, still clenched into fists. She was sitting up very straight, her perfect royal posture in full effect. Her breathing was a little bit quick, a little bit shallow. “Please, Geralt,” she said. “If you’ll just cooperate, it could be over with in five minutes.”

Geralt was rapidly running out of ways to express his disbelief. “You want me to fuck you, for five minutes, just so we can be rid of some rotten Alps? That’s all your maidenhead is worth to you?”

“It’s worth nothing to me,” Ciri blurted. “Less than nothing. It’s not some treasure; it’s a liability. A burden. My virginity puts us both at increased risk far too often. I’m sick of it. I want it over with.”

The force of her conviction startled him into silence. “…When we get out of here,” he offered cautiously, “I will help you find whatever sort of sexual partner interests you, and you can unburden yourself then. In a bed. Somewhere with…” his imagination faltered. “I don’t know. Strawberries. Pillows. A view of the ocean.”

She made a harsh little noise, shaking her head. 

“Or none of that,” Geralt continued, quirking an eyebrow. “Maybe you’d prefer a cozy little hay loft. Give some soft-cheeked stableboy the best night of his life.”

Ciri wrinkled her nose, but a grin flickered at the corner of her mouth. “Gross,” she snorted. “Have you thought of this often?”

He grimaced, offended. “No, of course not. I figured you’d find a clever lad eventually and it’d be none of my business. My point is that if you try what you’re suggesting here, you’ll only be disappointed. You’re a beautiful girl and you deserve better than a damp cave and a grimy old beast.”

She caught his gaze and held it. “How about a damp cave and a dear friend?” she challenged. “A mentor and a protector and the only man I can actually trust? Grimy old beast… you don’t give yourself enough credit.” She gave him a half-grin. “You’re also sweaty, hairy, and you stink.” 

“Hm.” Geralt rested his head back against the cave floor. “All true.”

Ciri unpinned her spine a little, tilting her head. “Besides, the only sexual partner I’m interested in is the one who can disappoint those alps,” she informed him. “Here and now.”

Geralt heaved a sigh, willing to accept that she was serious, but still determined to dissuade her. “Plenty of people have used me as a piece of meat, but this is the first time someone’s tried to use me to spoil an alp’s supper.”

“First time for both of us, then.” Her solemn voice made Geralt’s shoulders tense. He didn’t like where this was going. 

“No,” he said again. “I’m not doing it.” It didn’t matter that she had a point, about the alps. They’d probably move on, if there weren’t any virgins around. And if they did linger, they’d certainly be less ferocious, more manageable.

Ciri swallowed. “I have something,” she informed him. “Something that works on mutants. It will make you cooperate. I don’t want to use it, but--”

Geralt narrowed his eyes, trying to decide if she was bluffing and desperately hoping that she was. “You wouldn’t,” he decided. 

“To get out of this cave, I might,” she declared. “And to save our lives… I would.” She picked up the flask of wine from their dwindling supplies and offered it to him with both hands. “You should drink this,” she said apologetically. “It will help you relax.”

“Ha. Not fucking likely,” Geralt grumbled.

Ignoring him, Ciri set the flask down and stood, her hands moving promptly to the waistband of her pants, loosening them. 

Geralt grabbed her wrist, saying “stop that,” but she slapped his hand away. 

“No, you stop,” she scolded. “Let me do this.” Her pants dropped to her ankles, followed immediately by her undergarments. She stood before him bare-legged, with her skinny pale thighs and scabby knees, still wearing her boots. She looked absurd. Unashamed. Brave.

He kept his eyes on her face. 

“Cirilla.” He put as much authority into his voice as he could. “You don’t—” 

In a blink she straddled his lap, one of her tiny hands settling squarely over his manhood. Geralt tensed, repressing the urge to grab her by the arms and shove her away. Before he could decide on an appropriate course of action, her hand began rubbing urgently against him, as if his cock were a small animal she wanted to jostle awake from a nap. 

That rubbing action was so unexpected, so bizarre, that it dissolved the gravity of the situation. Geralt almost laughed in spite of himself. He caught her wrist again and held it. “You have no idea what you’re doing,” he said, stating the obvious. 

She frowned at him. “I’m stimulating you, so you’ll—get hard,” she explained. 

“For fuck’s sake. Did you read that in a book?” Geralt wondered, mildly appalled. 

She curled her hand into a fist. “If you’re not going to help me, I will figure it out for myself. You just have to lie there and let me.”

“Ugh.” Geralt closed his eyes, dismayed and uncomfortable, but this was not the hill he would die on, or the cave he would die in, after all. He reached for the flask and drained it in a few long gulps. It wouldn’t make him drunk enough to approve of this terrible plan, but he wasn’t cruel enough to make her go through with it all alone. 

He released her wrist and moved his hands to her hips. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded, her heartbeat quickening. 

“Helping you,” he muttered. 

“Don’t do anything without explaining it first,” she warned. 

Geralt felt the warmth of the wine as it reached his blood and allowed it to soften his expression. “Fair enough,” he agreed. “I’m pulling you up a little closer.” He shifted her forward a few inches. 

“Won’t it crush your balls? If I sit on them, I mean?”

“No. You’re light as a fawn, anyway. You probably need to eat more.” 

“I ate the last of our food this morning,” she admitted. “Another reason we need to get out of here.” As she spoke, she experimented with settling herself atop him. “Should I treat you as a saddle or a chair?” She tilted her pelvis forward and back to emphasize the different positions. 

“Don’t overthink it,” Geralt recommended. “Sit however you like.”

Her hand returned to the slowly thickening mass of his cock. “I don’t like these buttons,” she reported, her fingers running down the line of them. “Should we take off your pants?” 

Geralt sighed in resignation. He helped her with the buttons and lifted his hips, Ciri and all, to tug his trousers down far enough to be out of the way. As soon as his cock was free, her hand closed over it, squeezing slightly. 

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “This is softer than I thought it’d be.” 

“Give it a minute,” Geralt grunted. 

“No, I mean, your skin, here,” she clarified. Her thumb tickled him subtly, almost in a way that worked for him. “It’s probably softer than your lips.” She glanced up at his face, as if suddenly remembering something important, and he caught the first flicker of doubt in her eyes. 

“It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t have to kiss me.” 

“Good,” she deemed, returning her attention to his dick. “I always suspected that part was unnecessary.” 

Geralt felt sorry for her then. He could tell easily enough that she was aroused, which didn’t bother him at all. Young people were often aroused, it was just how they were. And she must’ve been thinking about this all day, getting herself worked up over what she thought she had to do. But she didn’t actually want him, not the way a young girl ought to want her very first lover. This was about necessity, not desire.

“Go up and down, with your fingers,” he instructed. “None of that side-to-side jiggling.”

Her hand petted him with measured strokes, as though this were no more than another music or art lesson from a royal tutor. Geralt closed his eyes and tried not to resist. 

“Oh, I see,” she uttered a moment later. “I think it’s working.”

“Yeah,” Geralt confirmed flatly. “Now wrap your hand around, and do this.” He cupped his hand and demonstrated the universal jerking-off motion. 

She did her best to tug at him as he’d shown her. “This doesn’t hurt you?” she asked after a moment. 

“Pfft. No,” Geralt huffed. 

“Should I do it harder?” she wondered next. 

He shrugged. “You can if you like. You aren’t trying to finish me off this way, just render me serviceable.” 

“ _Serviceable?_ ” She echoed, and for an instant it sounded like a laugh got stuck halfway up her nose. She made an attempt to pump him more forcefully with her tiny hand. His cock cooperated, firming up nicely until Ciri’s fingers couldn’t close all the way around it. 

“Wait,” she said, abruptly halting her efforts. He could practically feel her staring at him. She’d seen him naked a few times, accidentally or by happenstance, over the years—but she’d never seen him erect. “…This is huge.”

“I know,” Geralt deadpanned.

She frowned. “Is there a curse on it, or, is it part of your mutation? This can’t be normal.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows. “Cursed, no, mutated, no. That’s just how it is.”

“And human women—they honestly like it? This size?”

“Some of them like it a lot,” Geralt said. “But most of the women I’ve fucked have also liked my coin, so…” he trailed off into another shrug. 

“Right,” Ciri said grimly. She stared down at the enormous cock in her hand, looking worrisomely determined. “I can do this,” she muttered to herself. With a quick intake of breath, she raised herself up on her knees, levered that cock into pointing straight up at her sex, and tried to sit back down. 

“That’s not going to work,” Geralt warned her. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

“It’s supposed to hurt,” Ciri huffed, struggling to achieve the first inch of penetration. “I can handle it.” 

“I’m sure you can, but there’s no need to rip yourself open.” 

“ _Ts_ ,” she made a noise through her teeth. She tried again, perching her delicate flesh on the tip of his cock, ultimately failing to impale herself. “It won’t go in,” she complained.

“Then I guess this nightmare is over,” Geralt rumbled. “And we’ll never mention it again.” 

“Oh, very funny,” Ciri huffed, scowling. “I’m not giving up that easily. Aren’t you supposed to be some legendary sexual expert? Tell me what to do.”

Geralt sighed. “…You could start with your fingers.” He stared blankly at the ceiling, idly wishing a convenient stalactite would crack loose and spear him through the skull. 

Ciri kept one hand on his dick, slipping two fingers from her other hand inside herself. “I did this earlier,” she confessed. “While you were out fighting them. I thought it might help.” She pressed her fingers in as far as they would go. “I’m as wet as I’ve ever been, at least. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Geralt hovered one hand near her thigh. He felt resigned to helping her through this now. Every minute he left her to struggle on her own, the longer this ordeal would last. Better to get it over with. “Try one of mine,” he suggested reluctantly.

“All right,” she agreed. He carefully pulled her fingers away and offered her dripping slit just one of his own. She found it and lowered herself down, falling silent as his finger inched upwards into her body. She was slick and snug and Geralt hated the thought of stretching her. “…I’m not sure if I like this,” Ciri said tersely. 

“We can stop,” Geralt reminded her, trying not to sound too hopeful. 

“No, keep going,” she said, shifting her weight a little. “It doesn’t hurt, it’s just weird.” She moved herself up and down and then back and forth, experimenting. “Now another one, I guess?” 

Geralt gave a last beseeching glance at the ceiling of the cave, where the stalactites seemed stubbornly attached. “Slowly,” he instructed, overlapping his first two fingers and nudging them against her. 

“Mm.” She made a soft sound, concentrating, rocking herself down. “That’s— that feels like a lot.” 

He spread his fingers apart ever-so-slightly inside her, thankful that at least there was no trace of her virgin’s veil. Endless hours of horseback riding and rigorous training had undoubtedly worn it away. She was tight, of course, but blessedly slick. “…Is this all right?” he asked in response to her worried face. 

She nodded. “Now move them around?”

Geralt pulled his fingers back and slid them in again and again. She reacted well enough, insofar as he didn’t seem to be causing her any distress. He worked at her for another minute, gradually going deeper, until he felt her relax. “…That’s not bad,” she said at last, sounding halfway surprised. “I don’t think I could take a third, though.”

His fingers were quite thick. If she could take three of them, it might not be impossible for her to take something else, though he still hated the thought. “It may be easier on your back,” he mentioned. 

“All right,” she agreed, springing up and settling herself on the ground beside him. Geralt rolled onto his side, hovering his hand over her abdomen. She took a deep breath, grabbed his hand with both of hers, and guided his fingers between her legs.

He rotated his hand palm-up as he slid two fingers back in, pressing upwards inside her. He brushed his thumb over her clit. “Can I rub you here?” he asked. 

“If you think it will help,” Ciri granted. 

He rubbed her lightly and she reacted, breathing fast and light.

“…I can see why people like having a partner,” she gasped encouragingly. “This is—ah. Much more exciting than masturbation.” 

“It’s even better when there’s a mutual attraction,” he grumbled. 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, instead of a desperate bid for survival? I’ll take your word for it,” she said. “At least I feel… I actually feel like I want a little more.”

It did seem like she might be fractionally more stretchable now, so Geralt squeezed three fingers together, still thumbing her clit, and tried to press them in. 

Her body wasn’t having it. He managed maybe two inches before she reached down and grabbed his wrist. “That’s too much,” she said decisively. 

He eased his fingers out. “We can stop,” he repeated, hoping desperately that this would be the end of it. 

She gave him a look that was equal parts offended and apologetic. “I don’t think being fingered counts as losing one’s virginity. I have to take your cock.”

“It’s not going to work,” he warned. “You’re too small for me.”

“Do it anyway,” Ciri told him, setting her jaw in noble resolution. “Which is the easiest position? Me on top, or you? I feel like it ought to be you.” 

Geralt closed his eyes, a dark wave of dread welling up within him. If she were on top, it would be totally up to her how much she ended up taking. She’d have to do it to herself, and Geralt could go ahead and dissociate from what was happening. But then he thought of enduring her trembling as she forced herself down, thought of just how difficult it would probably be for her, and he worried that under the force of her own willpower, she might go too far. 

Whatever he thought he couldn’t do to her, he was even less willing to make her do to herself. 

So he moved to cover her with his body, his knees between her thighs and his arms on either side of her shoulders.

“Weird,” she said, examining him from this new perspective. “Is this what you look like to your lovers? Just sort of… looming over them?” Her eyes drifted down to the thick column of his cock, which was pointing ominously at its intended point of entry. She frowned, her brow creasing in concern. “That stupid thing looks even bigger now.”

“You can still change your mind,” Geralt said. 

“No. We’re doing this.” She reached down and wrapped her hand around his dick, joining the tip to her barely-open cunt, fumbling it across her clit a few times as she tried to wriggle her way down onto it. 

Finally Geralt shifted his weight so he could reach down and help her. With his hand over hers, he brought his cock down to the proper angle, burrowed against her inner lips. 

“Wow,” Ciri breathed. “You’re really going to have to plow it into me, aren’t you?”

Geralt nodded, feeling a troubling lump in his throat. 

“Go ahead,” Ciri commanded. Clear as a bell. Brave as a lion. 

Geralt swallowed, furious all over again at whatever ‘Destiny’ was supposed to be, that it would cause him to be part of this, that it would maneuver him into doing this to his own—to his own—

But she wasn’t his own. She wasn’t. 

He tucked his hips and sank into her, her body resisting and holding him off with remarkable strength until at last, he broke through. Her tight clench took hold of him, trapping him in place inside her. 

“Oh _fuck,_ ” she swore. “Ow.”

Geralt let out a breath. “—Sorry,” he whispered raggedly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said through gritted teeth. “This was my idea.”

“I’m sorry all the same,” Geralt told her. 

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” Ciri assured him. She brought her hands up and patted his shoulders, then wrapped her arms around his chest, hugging him. “I’m thankful it’s you,” She said. “Doing this for me. I mean it. I’m glad that it’s you.”

Geralt knew she meant well, but he was far beyond the point of being able to be comforted. He smelled blood.

“Might as well get it over with, right?” Ciri prompted softly. 

He pushed against her again, ultimately giving her less than half of his length—which was more than enough. Her eyes were shut tight, her mouth a thin, stubborn line. He knew this wouldn’t feel good for her, no matter how gently he went. 

Geralt moved his hips, in and out, his mind going numb. He was fucking her. Fucking Ciri. He was almost certain it was the worst thing he’d ever done in his life, motives be damned. He was altering her forever; the girl he had cherished disappearing forever under his cock. He was loath to acknowledge it, mortified to sense the crucial change he was causing, but all at once it was undeniable: she wasn’t a virgin anymore.

And now that he could sense that irreversible change, the monsters who’d been craving her blood would be able to sense it too. 

At that thought his cock began to fail, going soft inside her despite the perfect heat and squeeze of her body around him. He pulled out slowly, lacking the ability to push back in. 

“It’s over,” he muttered. 

“Are you sure?” she asked, seeming genuinely surprised.

“Yes,” he said simply, retreating to a kneeling position, no longer touching her. 

She sat up carefully. “…Am I bleeding?” 

“A little,” he admitted, feeling dizzy and sick from the smell of it. 

“Oh, Geralt,” she sighed. “I’m really sorry. I know you didn’t want to do any of this.”

A horrible thought struggled to the surface of his mind. “Did you drug me?” he blurted. 

Her eyes widened in alarm. “No, I didn’t. Would it have been better if I had?” 

“No,” Geralt said weakly. The fact that he’d almost suspected it was horrifying enough. 

“I asked you for help and you decided to help me,” Ciri recounted for him. “And I’m grateful that you did. Now I just hope my plan worked.”

Geralt tried to settle the static in his head and focus on their surroundings, on the environment beyond the cave. For days, half a dozen alps had been frantically trying to claw through solid stone, desperate to feast on a virgin who no longer existed. Now, there was no sign of them. 

“They’re gone,” he realized. He should have felt relieved. 

But he just felt dirty.


	2. Aftermath

Ciri caught their horses while Geralt retrieved his lost weapons. They rode to the nearest town, where Geralt instructed Ciri to remain in the fortress-like convent of hospitable Sisters and wait for him. 

Alone and on foot, he went hunting. 

Over the next ten days, he killed every alp within a fifty-mile radius of the cave where he and Ciri had been trapped. It was the most ruthless and efficient killing he’d ever done, without a single moment of distraction. Once he was certain he had eradicated them all, he returned to the town. 

Ciri, upon seeing him, ran to him and threw her arms around him. He was caked with dirt and blood and rotting bits of viscera, while she was clean and bright and not a virgin. Geralt felt repulsed. He pushed her away, revulsion searing through him. 

“What’s wrong?” Ciri demanded, alarmed. 

Geralt couldn’t tell her. He slept on the ground in the stables that night, soothed by the smell of hay and manure, despite being both unable and unwilling to separate himself from his armor and clothing, which still smelled of dead alps. 

In the morning, Ciri brought him biscuits and tea, which he barely attempted to eat. 

“Can you at least sit on your horse?” Ciri asked him that afternoon, when he hadn’t moved for several hours. 

He nodded, not looking at her. 

“Then let’s go,” she said. “I’m taking you to Yennefer.”

It was a five-day journey, during which Geralt barely uttered a word. There still weren’t any words that applied. He was too far down inside his mutated instincts, doing nothing but existing, surviving, crawling forward through the long hours of life, his eyes fixed on the road between Roach’s ears. 

Yennefer saw them coming while they were still miles off. By the time they reached the boundary of her property, she knew the situation was serious. Geralt smelled like death, and that wouldn’t do. Yennefer had worked out how to use her magic on Geralt long ago, so she cast a spell at him now, just to dissolve the worst of the muck off of him and neutralize the stench. But Geralt sensed the spell and raised his hand, making a sign to block it. 

Yennefer cocked her head back like a startled deer, offended that Geralt would try to counter her magic. He had no hope of winning this contest, but that he would even try was a transgression that would not go unpunished. She increased the intensity of her spell until Geralt was straining under the effort of holding it at bay. The two magic forces clashed in a shimmery black-and-silver veil between them, until Yennefer pinched two fingers together and fractured all the bones in Geralt’s hand. 

Geralt grunted in pain as his blocking spell failed, and Yennefer’s wave of cleansing magic swept through him with so much force it knocked him clear off Roach’s back. He hit the ground with a meaty thud and stayed there, drawing his injured hand to his chest. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll heal it,” Yennefer promised him.

“Don’t bother,” Geralt croaked.

Yennefer raised her eyebrows and looked at Ciri. “What happened to him?” she asked. “How long has he been like this?”

“Sixteen days,” Ciri said. “And… It’s my fault.”

Yennefer looked her over in surprise, noting with approval how much the girl had matured in the last few years. One change in particular jumped out at her. Ciri was no longer a virgin—good for her. “You better come inside,” Yennefer said. “We’ll sort it out.” 

Later, settled in comfortable chairs in front of a crackling fire, Yennefer held out her hand to Geralt. It was obvious that his broken bones were aching, no matter how his stupid face tried to hide it. He hesitated, looking away, but finally extended his wounded hand for her to treat. She whispered a spell against the pad of her forefinger for dramatic effect, pressed it to the back of his injured hand like pushing a button, and relished the brief flash of pain across his face as his bones snapped back into place, healing with a sting that she knew hurt worse than having them broken. 

It was over in two seconds, his hand fully healed and no longer painful. He didn’t thank her, which was odd. Usually, her Witcher had impeccable manners. She ignored this discrepancy and poured a drink for Ciri. “I think you better start at the beginning,” she said. 

Ciri looked back and forth between Yennefer and Geralt, guilt-stricken and worried. “We were attacked by alps,” she began. “And trapped for three days. I thought if I weren’t a virgin, we might be able to escape.”

Yennefer sighed. “So that’s what this is about,” she surmised. “I should have known. Really, Geralt, you have horrendously outdated prejudices about these things.” She leaned back in her seat, sipping her wine. “If you were a boy, Ciri, he’d be congratulating you, not mourning the loss of his child.” 

Ciri’s brow furrowed. “No, you don’t understand. It was—bad.”

“Define ‘bad’,” Yennefer said. “You seem to have come through it all right. Did Geralt lose his mind and murder the boy who did it?”

“No--there was no one else around.” Ciri took a breath and bit her lip. 

There was something she wasn’t saying. Yennefer studied Ciri for a moment, her mind working through possible scenarios. Ciri’s eyes darted over to Geralt, and then looked back at Yennefer. Imploringly. Guiltily. 

Yennefer followed Ciri’s gaze over to Geralt, who was staring sullenly at nothing. He was practically unconscious. The answer flared in front of her, and she felt a burst of heat across her skin at the shock of it: Geralt had been the one. He’d taken Ciri’s virginity. 

Yennefer’s eyebrows climbed as she silently confirmed her suspicions with a careful sample of both Ciri’s and Geralt’s thoughts. She took a long sip from her goblet, and then another. “…Did you drug him?” she asked conversationally. 

Ciri swallowed, shaking her head. “I thought about it, but I promise I didn’t. I thought he could put the nature of our relationship aside and just—do it. I didn’t know it would hurt him this badly.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes and then relaxed sideways in her chair, getting comfortable. She drew her feet up onto the cushion and propped her head against her hand. “You know, for most girls, their first time is far from wonderful. Serving royal families as long as I did, with their ridiculous fetishes for virginity, I can tell you that a princess is just as likely to be raped as a peasant girl. But you know who actually did have a good experience, her first time? A hunchbacked, crooked-jawed girl from a literal pigsty in Vengerberg. It was good, honestly a hundred times better than most other girls’ first experiences, because it was on my own terms, with someone I trusted.”

Ciri nodded, and Yennefer sensed that those were the exact reasons why Ciri herself didn’t seem traumatized by whatever had happened. 

Yennefer turned to Geralt. “How about you?” she asked. “How was your first time? Do you even remember it?”

Geralt didn’t respond. Yen poured herself some more wine. “Ahem,” she cleared her throat, trying to get Geralt’s attention. “This is one of those times when words are useful, dear Witcher,” she said. “And you know how good I am at making you talk.” 

Geralt finally looked at her. “Your first time.” Yennefer asked him. “Was it with a boy or a girl?”

“Neither,” said Geralt. 

“Consider me intrigued,” Yennefer stated, arching an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

“It was a monster,” Geralt muttered. Yennefer frowned and went to look inside his mind, but there was a vast, dark wall built around those memories of his, and she could not see through it.

“Your masters at Kaer Morhen made you fuck one of the creatures you were meant to kill?” Yennefer wondered. 

“No,” Geralt said. “Other way around. So we would always remember that rapists are monsters.”

Ciri sucked in a small, audible breath and her head whipped towards Geralt. “I didn’t know about that,” she said. “Geralt, I’m so sorry. That happened at Kaer Morhen?”

“A long time ago,” Geralt confirmed. 

Ciri was visibly distressed. “I’ve never heard a word about anything like that. And I was certainly never raped in training.”

“Nor was I,” Yennefer added. “Aretuza abused us in countless ways, but not like that.”

“That wasn’t even the worst thing they did to me,” Geralt recalled grimly. “But the lesson certainly stuck.”

“Explains quite a lot about you, actually,” Yennefer mused. “Though it makes it even more mysterious that you ended up so proficient in bed. What was your first time like with a woman?” 

“I, uh,” Geralt looked down, briefly clenching his jaw. “Not good,” he reported at last. 

“Come on, tell us,” Yennefer coaxed. “I’m sure you were disgustingly chivalrous.”

Geralt looked up at Yennefer and she was warmed by the focus in his eyes. He was coming around, she was sure of it. 

“I paid a whore,” he said. “At a tavern in Dravograd. It was quick. Done in two minutes.”

“Nothing’s changed, then,” Yennefer teased airily. 

“She said something to me I never forgot,” Geralt went on. “She said she’d hate to see me on a bad day.” 

Ciri frowned. “What’d she mean by that?” she asked. 

Geralt looked away. “For years I reasoned to myself that she meant I simply wasn’t an ideal customer. Too cumbersome to be easily managed, so it would be a hassle on her part to deal with me if she were having a bad day. But beneath that I wondered if she looked at me and immediately imagined that I might be angry or--violent.”

Yennefer and Ciri shared a glance, and with it a mutual thought, that certainly anyone getting an up-close look at Geralt would not be far from the mark to imagine him as capable of violence. 

Geralt’s massive shoulders slumped. “It was confirmation, early on, that I’d be seen as dangerous, even in matters of pleasure.” 

Yennefer stared at him blankly for a second, and then rolled her eyes to the ceiling with a dramatic sigh. “Ciri, how has he lived so long with such a tiny brain?” Yennefer groaned. She snapped her attention back down to Geralt. “Pleasure and danger have always gone hand in hand,” she informed him. “Pleasure is the most dangerous thing there is.”

“No, that’s backwards,” Geralt said, looking pitifully confused. “It’s pleasure and safety that go hand in hand. At least, if we’re talking about pleasure of a sexual nature.” 

Yennefer let her gaze smolder into him, assuring him that they were, indeed, talking about that sort of pleasure. 

Off to the side, Ciri repressed a snicker. “If the two of you need to continue that argument upstairs, please go on, don’t mind me,” she mentioned. 

Yennefer narrowed her eyes. “Another time,” she promised. “First of all, this unfortunate business between the two of you needs resolution. Geralt, Ciri is fine. What’s done is done, and she’s fine. She’s still your daughter.”

“No,” Geralt shook his head, looking away. “Not like before. Now she’s—”

“Careful,” Yennefer interrupted. “You aren’t allowed to say ‘ruined’ or ‘soiled’ or any such idiotic nonsense, not about this.”

“…Different,” Geralt finished.

“You didn’t expect her to stay a virgin forever, I hope,” Yennefer exclaimed. 

“Of course not. But I also didn’t expect to be the one to… to change her. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Yennefer bit her lip, considering that. “Who was the first woman who bedded you without being paid for it?” she asked abruptly. 

Geralt hung his head. “Renfri,” he answered.

She lowered her chin. “Renfri, the princess? The one you killed?”

Geralt nodded. 

Yennefer heaved a sigh, eyes wide. “Gods, you are a mess, Geralt.” She turned to Ciri. “Now we’ve got to the bottom of it,” she explained. “This isn’t really about you, it’s about her. The one he almost loved and always regretted. What happened with you has overlapped with all his unprocessed trauma of what happened with Renfri. Even worse, by being forced into an unwanted sexual act, he had to contend with the memory of being raped at Kaer Morhen, so in his mind, he became the monster and you became his victim. This catastrophe of conscience, embroiled with grief, guilt, helplessness, and a misconception that he had somehow failed to protect you, drove him into the sad state he was in when he arrived here today.”

Ciri gaped at Yennefer in solemn astonishment. 

“But the good news is, he’s already recovering. He knows that whether you’re a virgin or not doesn’t change who you are or how much he loves you. All right?”

Ciri nodded, fighting back tears. She got up from her chair and practically floated the three steps over to Geralt, reaching for his shoulder. He stiffened, but allowed her to touch him.

“I’m sorry,” Ciri said. “I wish none of it had happened. Please forgive me.”

Geralt swallowed, breathed, and Yennefer whispered _hug her, Geralt_ into his mind, causing him to flinch. Awkwardly, he wrapped one arm around Ciri, and then the other. Yennefer watched in silent respect as Geralt’s eyes closed, his head coming to rest on Ciri’s shoulder. 

He didn’t say anything, just held on to Ciri for a long moment. 

“There,” Yennefer said at last, almost reminding herself of Tissaia. “You’ll both be all right, eventually.”

“Thank you,” Ciri said, tears in her eyes. 

“And now, I believe it’s time for some sleep. Ciri, your room’s at the end of the hall, and Geralt, do you want to be alone?”

“No,” Geralt said immediately, locking his eyes on hers. There was a needful request lurking behind his gaze, which Yennefer carefully reached out with her mind to read. 

“…I see,” Yennefer nodded, sighed, and stood up. She strode over to the fire, concentrated for a moment, and then opened a portal in the middle of the room—

\--through which Jaskier fell with an ‘oof’. 

“What in the—oh,” Jaskier said, realizing what had happened. “Thank goodness I had my trousers on this time,” he joked. “Geralt, Ciri, nice to see you. Yennefer.” He tipped his head towards her in a cordial greeting, and then looked around the room. “Nice place,” he said brightly. “I’d heard you’d set up shop somewhere, getting your orgy-hosting business back on track. So… why am I here? What’s the occasion? Are we, um, is something happening?”

“Geralt needs you,” Yennefer explained. 

Jaskier licked his lips, studying Geralt in sudden concern. “…Do I want to know why?” 

“No,” Geralt grunted miserably. 

“Say no more,” Jaskier smiled. “I shall remain, blissfully, in ignorance.” He looked back at Yennefer in confusion, his eyes bombarding her with unspoken questions. 

“Take him to bed,” Yennefer instructed. “And tell him he’s safe.” 

“Is he safe?” Jaskier demanded. 

Yennefer let her eyes sweep over Geralt’s slumped posture, his bowed head, his hands resting in fists on his thighs, every inch of him too tense. 

“Yes,” she promised. 

Following Yennefer’s direction, Jaskier herded Geralt into a spacious bedroom, chattering about all the gossip he had missed in the three months since they’d last seen one another. Geralt, clearly not listening to a word Jaskier was saying, automatically undressed himself and settled into the bed. 

Jaskier stripped as well, crawling into the familiar space against Geralt’s back. When his funny story about a chicken and a zither got no response, he stared solemnly at the ridge of Geralt’s mountainous shoulder for a moment, and then carefully draped his arm over Geralt’s side. Geralt found his hand and clasped it firmly, holding Jaskier’s arm in place around him. 

Jaskier swallowed, sensing that something truly terrible must have occurred. 

“…I don’t care what happened,” Jaskier said softly. “You’re safe now. That’s all that matters. We’re safe here together.” He nestled in closer, and kissed the back of Geralt’s neck. 

Geralt exhaled. “Don’t do that,” he grumbled. 

“What? Kiss you?” Jaskier asked, raising his head a little. 

“Yeah. Not tonight,” Geralt said. 

“Okay,” Jaskier agreed, settling his head back down on the pillow. 

Geralt’s breathing evened out and Jaskier listened to it for a while, wondering what sort of horror had precipitated this bizarre need for security. He wasn’t going to ask—not now, and probably not anytime soon, even though he was desperately curious. 

“Thank you,” Geralt muttered out of nowhere. “For being here.” 

“You’re welcome,” Jaskier replied. “Not that I had a choice, obviously, I was just magically kidnapped and brought here, but, it’s an honor to be here for you all the same. Whatever you need, Geralt. I’m here for you.”

Jaskier knew right away he’d said something wrong by the way Geralt all but turned to stone beside him. 

“Not here by choice,” Geralt echoed. 

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Jaskier scrambled to correct himself. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. You need me, and I need you. I should probably make a vow to never let you out of my sight again. I thought it would be good for you and Ciri to go out hunting together, you know, bard-free for a while, just the two of you. But now I wish I’d insisted on coming along. I don’t know what happened, but, maybe I could have helped.”

“No,” Geralt said forcefully. “If you’d been there… you would’ve been the one she…”

“She?” Jaskier asked in spite of himself. 

“Ciri,” Geralt clarified, falling abruptly silent. 

“Okay… so Ciri did something,” Jaskier parsed slowly. “And you’re glad it wasn’t me that she did it to. Did she kill someone? Sorry—you don’t have to tell me.”

“You saw her,” Geralt grumbled. “Wasn’t it obvious?”

“What?” Jaskier asked, confused. There was a second of silence, and then Geralt sat straight up, turning to face him. 

“You couldn’t tell,” Geralt realized with a tone of oddly urgent hope. 

“Tell what?” Jaskier asked, also sitting up. 

Geralt looked away, something heavy lifting from his expression. “Humans can’t tell,” he muttered, as if to himself. “Hm. I actually forgot that humans can’t sense that at all. To you, Jaskier, she’s no different.” 

Jaskier was totally lost. “I’m… glad that makes you feel better?” he offered, since it was evidently true. “But I have to say, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Geralt lay back down with an abbreviated sigh of relief. “Good,” he said. 

“Come on, now. I know I said you don’t have to tell me anything, but if you’re going to make a bunch of cryptic references, I am naturally going to crave an explanation. What’d she do that’s so obvious to you and yet invisible to me? Did she get a magical tattoo on her face or something? Got herself cursed like her father was? Does she turn into a squirrel at midnight now?”

“No,” Geralt said simply, and Jaskier heard the exhaustion settling in his voice. It seemed that Geralt had found enough of a toehold in mental peace to allow himself to rest, and Jaskier would respect that. “…I don’t want to keep it secret,” Geralt mumbled. “Confession cleans the wound. But tonight, I’m glad you don’t know. It’s a comfort… I don’t deserve.”

Jaskier bit his lip, worried. “Happy to help,” he said lamely, and stopped himself from adding _you deserve every comfort, my love,_ even though he thought it with all his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suddenly this turned into a three chapter fic...


End file.
